


The Comforter

by lyricalsoul



Series: Love and Happiness [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love and Happiness, M/M, Mycroft pulls strings, dialogue-only parts, drunk!lestrade, first person parts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg gets some news that hurts... Mycroft tries his hand at comforting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Comforter

**Author's Note:**

> So... long time, no write. Blame it on the bum wrist that is slowly but surely healing. Thanks for all your good thoughts and encouragement.
> 
> Anyway, head canon: Greg was married for six years. If I said differently somewhere in this, I apologize. Also, he married his sister's best friend from high school (to be American about it). Greg's ex-wife Liz looks like Anna from Coronation Street. 
> 
> Takes place a few hours after the events of Indulgences, which you should definitely read first. 
> 
> I do hope you enjoy this. Remember: "..." denotes silence. Beta Washed by the ever awesome Wretched.
> 
> For Edenlost because she held my hand and didn't even know she did.

(Monday, 5:13pm, Bell’s Landing Café)

I decline the offer of a pasty, then a bacon butty. Next I refuse a donut, and smile and shake my head at an offer of chips. I sigh, and try not to be annoyed as the overly-friendly server tops up my (already perfectly sweetened and cooled) coffee for the third time. I check my watch. Twenty minutes late. Damn it, Liz. “Thanks, but really, I’m fine.”

“Maybe you’ve been stood up?” Jason, whose name I have been so cheekily invited to use, smiles, all pearly white teeth and dimples. “Shame, if so. You’re… god, you’re much more dishy in person than you are on telly, and let me just say that I wouldn’t leave you here on your own. I’d be afraid someone would snatch you up.”

I hope I’m not blushing. “Thanks, ah…Jason. I’m sure she’ll be along in a bit.”

A signal from the cook gets his attention, and he smiles. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need, Detective Inspector.”

I watch him walk away with a shake of my head.

“Hey.” Liz slides into the chair opposite with a frown. “Sorry I’m late. You changing the time mucked up my day.”

“Unexpected thing came up this morning,” I say, trying not to blush at what actually came up.  Leaving a sated, pliant Mycroft in bed wasn’t easy. “You look… yeah, you look good.” I take in her curly black hair, and fuller figure. That’s different, but it suits her. “How’s… ah, Harold?”

“Gerald,” she corrects with a tisk. “Really, Greg. Don’t act like you give a toss about all that. Let’s just get this done, please.”

So much for small talk. “Right.” I pull out the papers, and slide them across the table to her. “Just need you to sign, and we’re all done. The check for your part of the sale of the flat will be cut soon. Everything else we’ve agreed to is highlighted on your copy.” I hand her a folder with the copies. “Also…and this is embarrassing, but my mum… well, there’s a list of things from the kitchen that were hers, and she wants them back.”

“So I’ve heard. She’s never liked me, anyway. I’ll get it all together, and you can come and get them. No need in wasting postage.”

And that’s why she didn’t like you, I think sourly. “Well, in that case, just give it to Sam.”  

“Sure, whatever.” She scans the papers, then scrawls her name at the bottom. “What’s the turnaround?”

“For the money?” I take the papers back, and shrug. “I don’t know, but you can borrow from the escrow if you need-“

“No… for the divorce to be final.”

“Oh. Um… two or three months, I guess. You’re in that big a rush to be rid of me?”

“Yes,” she huffs. After a moment, she tips her head back and sighs. “No, no. I’m sorry… It’s just… Gerald and I want to get married as soon as possible.” She waves at the server. “We’ve got our eye on a nice flat, and want to get everything settled before taking on a mortgage.”

“God forbid you should be kept from moving on.”

“I’m sure you’re just as keen to be rid of me, so let’s not, hm?”

“Right. Well... I might know someone who can expedite the process,” I say. Left to his own devices, Mycroft could have the divorce finalised tomorrow, if I asked. I won’t, but that might not stop him. “I’ll see what I can do, yeah?”

“Ta for that, then.” She turns to the server, who is trying not to look like he’s hovering. “A large glass of orange juice, extra ice, please.”

“Straight away, ma’am.” Jason looks at my coffee and lifts an eyebrow. “More?”

“I’m good.”

“Yes,” he says with a cheeky wink at me before turning away to fetch the orange juice.

For some reason, this makes Liz’s lips thin out into a disapproving frown. “Must you?”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Flirting with that… that boy,” she hisses. “Out in the open, too.”

“What? I’m just sitting here.” Not touching that with a long stick. Liz and her jealousy are legendary. “Since when do you drink orange juice? You’ve been drinking Guinness since you were fifteen. Don’t tell me you’ve gone vegan or are now into clean living…?”

“Since I’m pregnant,” she says defensively, placing a hand on her stomach. “Three months along now.”

“Wh-what?” I feel the room tilt, and I blink a bit to regain my focus. “Um… I thought… well, ah… cheers?”

“It wasn’t my intention to tell you this way. Well, I wasn’t going to tell you at all.” At my look, she laughs nervously. “It’s not like we were going to see each other all that much after today. Jesus, Greg… don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Oh, so I can’t be surprised?” I ask, irritated at her dictating how I should react. “Fuck, Liz… what reaction should I have? Should I be happy, and come round for the shower with a gift? You want me to stand as godfather?”

“Stop it.” She pauses as Jason returns with the orange juice and sets it in front of her. “Yes, thanks. Off you go. You can pull him when I leave.”

Jason huffs, tops off my coffee, then stomps away with a glare at Liz.  

“That was uncalled for,” I sigh.

“Oh, that’s right… the champion of morality,” she sneers. “Well, I know all about you, Gregory Lestrade, so you can stop pretending that you’re so innocent, and that your wife’s the only cheating slag in this.”

I feel my face heating up in embarrassment at her getting me so angry that I lashed out and called her names. “I said that once, and only because I was mad. I apologized, and if I remember, gave you a gorgeous bouquet of roses. So, what’s this about, then, Liz?”

“It’s about you. I told Sammie that I wasn’t going to bring it up, but I’m tired of being the bad guy in all this.”

Oh god… My sister, Samantha, and Liz have been best mates since fifth form, and the looming divorce hasn’t changed a thing between them. You’d think a bloke’s sister would have some loyalty, but no. “What’s Sam said to you?”

“This isn’t about Sammie. This is about you, making me feel like shit, when you have your own little secrets, don’t you?”

“Now, look-“

“Oh, no,” she cuts in, “you look. I don’t want this to turn into a thing, Greg, and I really don’t want to hurt you. I just want to divorce, and get on with my life. My life with Gerald.”

I’m really trying not to be angry, but I’m only human. “I don’t care about your damned life with Gary or whatever the hell his name is. How in the hell are you pregnant? We spent the better part of a year trying.”

“Greg,” she sighs, and hangs her head. She takes a deep breath, and lifts her head to look at me. “Well… to be honest, all that time, that year we spent trying to have a baby? I wasn’t ready. I thought I was, but… it was a bad idea. We weren’t…you were working almost twenty hours a day, and I didn’t think…  there were, um… things… so I knew it wouldn’t work. I figured you’d find any pills I had, so after that first month of trying and failing, I just went and got the birth control shot. Before you started the treatments. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” I bang the mug down on the table, ignoring the coffee that sloshes over my hand. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why the hell would you do that when you knew that I… oh hell.” I groan and rub a hand across my forehead. “I can’t believe this shit! Do you know how bloody expensive those treatments were?”

“Yes,” she replies nervously. “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t hurt you like that. You were set on it, and I didn’t want to tell you no. So I just let you think it was you.”

“Wait… so it wasn’t me? I’m not… you are a bloody piece of work, Liz.”

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “It was you, but it was…the treatments probably worked, but we’ll never know, will we? Believe me… it wasn’t my intention to hurt you. Really, it wasn’t.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief, knowing that it wasn’t deliberate. That you only lied, cost me a shit ton of money, and carried out an elaborate deception because you didn’t want to hurt me. Glad that’s all squared.”

“Greg, calm down.”

“Seriously?” I look at her like she’s lost her bloody mind. “You want me to calm down after you’ve told me that you’ve been lying to me for the past three years? Oh, yeah… I’m calming right down.”

“What’s the point in getting upset now?” she asks. “It’s pointless. If we’d had a baby, we’d still be getting a divorce now. It was stupid to think it was going to be good for us.”

“I know you had to have some reason other than that you thought it was a bad idea. Were you afraid the baby wouldn’t be mine because you were shagging someone else?” It’s not like I didn’t know what she got up to on her ‘need some space’ nights, where she’d be gone off overnight, doing god knew what. “We came to a mutual agreement about having a kid. You should have said no if it wasn’t what you wanted. What’s the point in carrying on this elaborate charade? What purpose did it serve?”

“I wanted one, but then I found out you fancied blokes, and changed my mind!” she says in one big breath.  

My stomach drops. Shit. SHIT. “You what?”

She takes a sip of her juice and smirks at the wide-eyed look I’m sure is on my face. “Oh, yeah… I found out about you and that American bloke shagging all over the place back when you were a PC. I know you can’t turn off feelings like that, just like I know you’ve moved in with some fancy man with a posh flat near Kensington.”

“I…ah, well… it wasn’t like that,” I stammer, though I don’t even know why I’m bothering. Fucking Sam… I’m going to kill her. “When we got married, I put all that behind me. I never…” I wave a hand in the air. “I wouldn’t have done that to you. Not without talking to you about it. It wasn’t an issue.”

“Yeah, just so honest, aren’t you? Well, maybe at first, you did try. But I could tell there was something, that you weren’t happy. You never were. And when I found out why, I knew I couldn’t have kids with you.”

“Couldn’t have been that I was unhappy with your shit, could it? You, coming in at all hours, smelling like whoever you were ‘having drinkies’ with, upset because I worked late, kicking me out of our bedroom, while you were allegedly trying to sort your bloody feelings. Really, Liz, you wondered why I was unhappy? I should have gotten a medal for all the shit I put up with.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” she sneers. “Who was it running off here and there after that nutter with the hat? And he’s right up your street, isn’t he? Tall and fit, at your beck and call, yeah?  I’ll bet all those late nights, claiming to be working on a case with him, you were shagging him. Because no one knows what you got up to, do they, Detective Inspector Lestrade? Slept your way up the chain, and probably got your knob polished by every crook in town so you wouldn’t arrest them. ‘Good Time Greggie’, I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, and while Sam was providing all this information, did you two talk about what you got up to when we were married? Wasn’t me letting every bloke in shouting distance get a leg over. Shagging the bloody PE teacher – which that tall nutter, as you call him, told me on Christmas Eve when you and I were supposed to be back together - and god knows who else. Does Sam know about all that?” I stand up and grab my coat. “If I were Terry, or whatever the fuck his name is, I’d get a paternity test to make sure the baby was mine!”

“You bastard!” She tosses the remainder of her orange juice in my direction.

“Oi!” I gasp as the cold juice hits the side of my face, and a few pieces of ice slide down my shirt. I push up from the chair, and grab my napkin. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, get fucked, Greg. Really.” She grabs the papers, stuffs them in her purse, and stands. “I can’t wait to be rid of you, you sod!” She storms off in a huff.

“Fuck,” I groan, and shake out my collar to get the ice out. Shit.

***

(6:10pm, park bench, location undisclosed)

My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket, and I pull it out to have a look at it. Damn… the last person I want to speak to. “Yeah, Sam,” I answer. “What is it?”

“Erm… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to out you.” She sniffs. “It was years ago that I told her, and just… we were drunk. I wasn’t thinking she’d use it against you.”

I don’t answer since there’s nothing I can say that won’t involve me telling her what she can do with her apology.

“Greg?”

“Bugger that, Sam. I know she’s your best mate and all, but what you did is so fucked up… I don’t even know what to say to you that won’t hurt you. Just… leave me alone for now. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“But…”

“No, Samantha. Some things aren’t your business. That you knew meant I trusted you with it, and you told. And it’s not just that you’ve told someone, you told my wife, and it ruined our marriage. So, yeah… I’m not really in the mood for you trying to make me talk to you about anything right now.”

“Mum will want to know why we’ve fallen out…”

“Tell her what you did.” I’m even angrier that she’s trying to work this in her favour. “Guess whose side she’ll take.” I ring off, and shove the phone back in my pocket.

Bloody sisters. I knew it was a bad idea to fall for my sister’s best mate, but I thought if it went sour, Sam would put family first… or at least pretend to be neutral. Should have listened to my mum – she told me Liz wasn’t for me, that we’d be divorced before we reached five years, that we shouldn’t have kids, and that she was too tarted up to just be going to work. God… if my own mum knew… hell, she probably does.

“Bugger.”

I need a drink. In fact, I need a lot of drinks. I make a quick call to Mrs. Landingham to oversee the painters, and head off to my local to drown my sorrows.

***

(7:11pm, The Briny Marlin Tavern)

“So help me god, if you don’t stop pestering me...”

“Pestering is such an ugly word.”

“Oh. No, no… not you, Mycroft. I’m sorry, I thought you were Sam.”

“Why would I be your sister?”

“She’s been calling me all evening. I assumed it was her. Again.”

“Obviously you’ve done something to cause her concern. Or… she’s done something to make you angry. Perhaps the reason you’ve sought out the sanctity of the public house instead of overseeing the painters for your rumpus room?”

“Taking advantage of the CCTV to keep tabs on me is a breach of the relationship contract, Mycroft.”

“I did not know we’d signed such a contract, nor do I need CCTV to hear the clinking of glasses and the match in the background, Gregory.”

“Mrs. Landingham is seeing to the painters. I needed to clear my head.”

“There are so many responses to that, I hardly know which to choose.”

“If you plan on touching me ever again, you’ll choose the high road.”

“You’re in a snit.”

“Working on it.”

“Rather curious that you’re refusing to speak to your sister, and you’re not at home.”

“Not really.”

“As much as you went on about needing your own space, you not being there to oversee the room’s repurposing is a sure sign that something is amiss. What’s happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“All evidence is to the contrary.”

“What is this, the Inquisition?”

“It could be…”

“Give it a rest, Mycroft. I’m fine.”

“You are far from fine.”

“Says you.”

“Hm. Let’s take a look at your day, shall we?”

“Let’s not.”

“No, no… do let’s, since it’s what you’re asking me to do by not telling me. So… you are not ill, or you would be home, manipulating Mrs. Landingham into coddling you. You haven’t interacted with Sherlock, since you’d most likely be at work, or Baker Street.”

“Could you just-”

“Then there was the brunch with your soon-to-be ex-wife, pushed to an early dinner, as you were delayed by our post-breakfast, ah, activities. There wasn’t an issue with the terms of the divorce, nor the signing of the papers. Yet, the meeting took a turning because it was over in less than thirty minutes. Why? What could possibly make a mostly amicable parting go sour? Did one of you decide that divorcing was a mistake?”

“Mycroft-”

“No… _you_ wouldn’t, since the infidelity was crushing for you. Did she realise that the green grass on the other side was artificial turf, and want you back? Did she use your sister to try to influence you?”

“Oh, like I’d do anything Samantha suggested. For the last time, Liz doesn’t want me back. In fact, she wants it done and over quickly so she can move on with her life with...whatever his bloody name is.  And even if she did, I wouldn’t go back, seeing as how I have something better now.”

“Flattering, but please do focus. What was it?”

“It wasn’t anything.”

“You’re well on your way to being inebriated, so whatever transpired at your meeting was enough to irritate you to the point that you didn’t want to be left alone with your thoughts. And now, there you are at a rather crowded pub, alone and angry, swilling bottom shelf whiskey like a common ruffian, blissfully unaware that a reporter for the Sun is lurking about, waiting to capitalise on your lapse in judgment. I can imagine the headlines – DI in-”

“Bloody hell, I absolutely hate when you do this, Mycroft!”

“Now, now… there’s no need to take on so, Gregory.”                         

“You just bang on and on about a thing until a person has no choice but to give in or take cyanide!”

“Well.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I know negotiation and interrogation are your life’s blood, but give it a rest. Please.”

“Ah. Well… know that I am at your disposal, should the need to unburden yourself arise.”

“Come on… don’t be petulant. Not everything is about you.”

“I am insulted that you have mistaken my concern for petulance, but I do sincerely apologise for ‘banging on and on’ about wanting to help ease your troubles. Now… selfish person that I am, I must go and prevent a small country from economically imploding.  Talk later.”

*click*

“Shit.”

***

“Yes, Gregory.”

“…”

“Are you there?”

“I…ah…yeah, I’m here. Sorry.”

“No, no. Perhaps I was a tad… overbearing. Your unanticipated change in mood disturbed me.”

“That wasn’t my intention at all. Just… well, Liz… It’s a bit… she’s pregnant.”

“Ah. Well… that’s… yes. Well.”

“At a loss for words? You?”

“It is most certainly a surprising turn of events, wouldn’t you say?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

 “And Elizabeth? How is she?”

“She’s the fucking picture of happiness, and is all aglow.”

“When is the blessed event?”

“The what?”

“How far along is she?”

“Not as far along as your tone suggests.”

“I am not suggesting anything.”

“Implying, then.”

“One never knows.”

“One should know. Especially you, being a Holmes and all.”

“That mantra is becoming rather tedious.”

“Says the man who can tell what I ate for breakfast two days ago by the tie I wore.”

“You always eat a blackberry jam-filled donut for luck when you’re to appear in court.”

“Yeah, well… your implication that I got Liz up the duff is way off. She and I are barely civil at this point. She tossed a glass of orange juice in my face, swanned out, then probably spent the next hour ranting to my sister about what an arse I am. I’m sure that ship has definitely sailed.”

“The line between love and hate is often quite thin. And you and I did part for a period. Perhaps you grew nostalgic for old flames.”

“Oh, yeah… that’s exactly what I did. We split up, and I was so broken-hearted, I decided to shag my cheating, conniving ex-wife to numb the pain. Unprotected shags that lasted for days.”

“Well, now there’s no need to be-“

“Shags everywhere… on the worktops, the floor, at work on my desk, in the panda… it’s a wonder she’s not having twins, or triplets with all the shagging we did. And as brilliant as you are, you didn’t notice that I was so worn out from Liz that I could barely get it up for you.”

“Now you’re just being an-”

“Would it be weird if she and I stayed together but I lived with you? I’ve gone to all the trouble of moving in, and Liz isn’t sure how her fiancé will take the news that’s he’s now got to share. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Gregory-“

*click*

“Bugger.”

***

“I’m amazed that you rang back.”

“I can learn new things.”

“I see.”

“Apologies, Gregory.”

“When you have dealings in Scotland, how often do you and your rugby chappie meet up for drinks and have a shag?”

“You are well aware that he and I do not associate, and bringing him up is… ah.”

“There’s the wind pissing out of your sails.”

“How crass.”

“Sometimes, that’s all that’ll get through to you.”  

“I do not think it impossible for you to have sought out the familiar in such an instance, Gregory. We were apart; perhaps you got lonely, and you needed an outlet for your passions.”

“An outlet for my passions.”

“A bit flowery, perhaps. You are rather highly sexual, so not an outlandish notion.”

“It’s a crazy notion. You broke my heart, Mycroft.  You think I rang up Liz and had her over for a reunion shag? Besides, at the time we were apart, I couldn’t get hard if my life depended on it.”

“Your ex-wife is pregnant, and you seem to be upset by it. What other conclusion is there to draw?”

“There are a million conclusions to draw. You know… this is what I get for falling in love with Mr. Caring Isn’t An Advantage. You know all about what makes people tick, what they’ve done, what their motivations are, but emotions totally stump you.”

“I’m not ‘stumped’ at all, Detective Inspector. The evidence-“

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you git, it’s not my baby!”

“Well.”

“And if you don’t stop calling me by my title, so help me, you’ll be sleeping alone for the next three months.”

“Then perhaps you should cease being tedious.”

“…”

“I realised as I said it that it the wrong thing to say.”

“That guest room has a bit of a draft. I hope you don’t get too cold, sleeping alone in there.”

“I do apologise, Gregory. You seem to evoke such primitive responses in me.”

“Good for me, but you could have better timing when you’re going to be primitive.”

“Do you wish to… is there anything I can do to… ease your agitation?”

“No need to put yourself out.”

“Shipping Liz, her fiancé, and your sister off to the desert to mine borax wouldn’t be a chore in the least.”

“I appreciate the offer, but there’s nothing you can do about me being stupid.”

“How so? Ah… you wish it were your baby?”

“Mycroft.”

“Well… not now, of course. Then.”

“I did mostly. She told me… well, she lied.”

“Not surprising.”

“Not helping.”

“She is not known for her honesty, so I will not apologise for being frank.”

“Fine.”

“You were under the impression that there was a defect on your part? “

“Four years into the marriage, we thought a baby might… I don’t know, bring some stability to our relationship, so she stopped the pill. When nothing happened, we went to doctors, and had all these tests. They found… well, it was me.  A minor thing that could be fixed with a few treatments, some… you know, remedies and such. So I went for these ah, treatments, and basically soaked my bollocks in gamma rays for six months for nothing. It should have worked, but turns out, all that time of schedules and special pants, she’d not quit the birth control.”

“That’s quite a length to go to, just to keep up a charade.”

“All or nothing for Liz.”

“Surely, the specialists and testing couldn’t have been inexpensive…?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen my financials.”

“Not since you first began your dealings with Sherlock. However, I can imagine that it left you in a bit of financial straits.”

“A bloody nightmare.”

“The sale of your flat put you on more even footing, and I will continue to ensure that you have food, and basic services, so you need not worry in that respect.”

“Basic services.”

“Have I used the incorrect phrasing?”

“No. Just… your tone. My fancy man, ensuring I have toast and tea. I mean, it may not be your usual la-di-da bread, but I can afford a loaf or two.”

“Sarcasm really, really doesn’t suit you, Gregory.”

“Well, I don’t have the flair for witty remarks like you do, but I hold my own.”

“Oh, you do. So… her penchant for emasculating you aside-“

“Yeah, cheers, Mycroft.”

“- did she say why she felt the need to create such an elaborate charade?”

“With relish. She found out about Renny. From Sammie, that backstabber.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Didn’t want to be with a man who was out shagging blokes every chance he got, and so she stayed on birth control. How the hell was I going to know? Oh… I should have, being a copper and all. Stupid.”

“It was an elaborate deception, Gregory. You are an excellent detective; however, your kindly nature would not let you believe your wife would be so devious.”

“You would have known by the way she scratched or moved her fingers or some such little detail. That my sister told her was probably evident to you as well. I’m a slow witted goldfish compared to you. Why do you even bother with me?”

“Gregory, cease this inane chatter. I understand that you’re hurting, but if you continue down this road, words will be exchanged that neither of us can take back.”

“Blame it on the whiskey.”

“Hm.”

“Listen… I’m not in the mood for all this right now, so I’m going to ring off, yeah?”

“Understood. If there’s anything I can do…?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Yes. Goodnight, then.”

***         

(10:37pm, The Briny Marlin Tavern)

I’ve now left off the whiskey, and am working on my third gin and tonic. My mum always said that the devil is in mixing your spirits, and that gin will turn a good lad bad, but I don’t give a toss. I’m right tipsy, and much to my shame, am on the verge of an embarrassing cry. So much for turning bad….

Hopefully, I’m enough of a regular here that no will notice or care if I collapse in a puddle of regret right here at the table. I plunk my head down, and with a huge sigh, mourn my wasted life.

“Oi, Lestrade! This is a pub, not your mum’s bosom!”

I flip the finger at Roy, the owner, and ignore the sucking sounds some of the blokes are making.  Of course someone has to make it worse by sliding into the seat across from me. I groan rather loudly, but don’t look up, just in case my eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “Buggering hell… can’t a man have a bit of a meltdown in peace? And if you’re from the Sun, I’ll sue you if you print any lies.”

“A picture is worth a thousand lies.” Mycroft. Of course it’s him. “Or so they say.  Don’t mind me… I’m only here to see you home safely. Melt away.”

I groan even louder, and raise my head, meaning to glare at him, but it just makes my head hurt more. How he manages to look so bloody perfect every second of the day is beyond me. He’s in shirtsleeves (pale blue, dark stripe, dark blue tie) and casual waistcoat (and I’m amazed that such a thing exists), holding a pint. My mouth goes dry at how crisp his shirt is, and how much I want to peel him out of it, though I’m drunk as hell, and would probably rip off the buttons. Now there’s a thought. I offer what I hope is a bright smile. “What are you doing here? You don’t drink beer.”

“Nor do I frequent pubs,” he returns with a frown. Must have failed on the bright part of the smiling then. “However, as this is where you are, it is where I am choosing to be.”

“I don’t need a nanny.”

“No.”

“Or a hand holder. I’m fine.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to provide comfort,” he says quietly, and that is a sign of… something. I’m a bit fuzzy on it (damned gin), but I think it’s emotional, and he’s uncomfortable. “It occurred to me that you were genuinely hurt by Liz’s deception. And while I do not understand the emotion behind it, I do understand… or am trying to understand your pain.”

I smile at that. “Sentiment.”

“It has its uses.” He sips the ale, then frowns. “This is horrid.”

“Grows on you after a bit. I thought you were in… somewhere… today.”

“For all intents and purposes, I am in France.”

“I must be really drunk, because you look like you’re sat across from me. That high definition stuff is a marvel.”

“You are an hilarious drunk, my dear Gregory,” he says with a chuckle. His lips purse as he looks at me. “And how is it that even three sheets to the wind, you manage to look ravishing?”

“My heart is pure.”

“But your thoughts are very wicked.” He looks at me again. “It should be said that if you’re going to hide your unhappiness from me, you should advise your left leg. And your teeth.”

Refusing to take the bait, I say, “I’m all right.”

“I beg to differ.” His tone is light, and a bit breezy, which isn’t good for anyone, so it’s best that I cut him off at the pass.

“I know you’re going to mention the dirt on my trouser leg, and the state of my hair, but let’s not, hm, Mastermind?”

“It was the dirt on your shoes. And stop using that dreadful nickname.”

“But it’s so fitting!” I knock back the remainder of my drink and set the glass aside. “You look different.”

“I had a shave and haircut today. Bay rum has been sprinkled about my person." He lifts an eyebrow. “Rumour has it that it is a favourite scent of yours.”

“Not a rumour. I love your hair when it’s just cut. You look ah, boyish.”

“No wonder my negotiations aren’t going well. However, I thought such a thing might cheer you.”

“Oh, I’m cheered, all right. It’s just… look, you don’t have to…” I stop, then press on. “I know you’re not comfortable with all this, so it’s not… you don’t have to stay. I’m being stupidly sentimental. I don’t even like Liz. But… a part of me is hurt. She lied and cheated, but that doesn’t… shit. It’s just shit.”

“Bringing a baby into a relationship, thinking that it will somehow solidify what is already broken, is sheer lunacy,” he says solemnly. “It will only fray the relationship further, until both parties are unhappy, and the child is left to fend for himself in a home with two people who hate each other.”

“Yeah, well… you’ve never been married.”

”True. I’ve also never been bitten by a cobra, but I know it could kill me.”

“Interesting analogy, but point taken. Sorry.”

“Unnecessary.” He stops as the barman places two flutes of something bubbly in front of him, along with a tall glass of still water.  

“Prosecco, as requested.” The young man gives him  a brilliant smile, and I’m reminded of ‘Jason’ from earlier. “Is it all right? I mean…we’re not a fancy place, by any means, but if you’d like, I can-”

“Prosecco is fine,” Mycroft assures him. “Thank you, Bryan.”

I’m not surprised when ‘Bryan’ blushes, seeing as how Mycroft’s voice dropped a few octaves. “My pleasure, sir. Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

Him stressing ‘anything’ grates on my nerves, and I bristle. “Move along, lad. Nothing to see here.”

With a saucy look at Mycroft, Bryan huffs and moves away.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” I say.

“No need to be jealous, Gregory. It’s about what he thinks I can give him. We both know he wouldn’t look at me twice out on the street.”

“I’d look at you twice,” I say, letting my own voice drop a few octaves. “Maybe three or four times if you’re wearing that really fancy get up with the red braces.”

“You are incredibly biased, but I do appreciate the compliment.” He pours a powder in the glass, and swirls it around. He pushes it toward me. “For your headache.”

I drink the water, and grimace when it’s done. “I hate that taste.”

“You’ve had worse,” he retorts with that quick flash of a smile that I love. “I can trade your Prosecco for a coffee if you’d like…?”

“In my pub? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I do not know much about pubs, but I believe that ship sailed when you put your head down on the tabletop.”

“They’ll forget in a few days. Weeks.” I look at the crowded table in the corner. “Months.”

“I do not hold out any hope that this evening will not end with you sicking up in a potted plant, or in an alley. Mixing whiskey, gin, and fizzy wine is a recipe for disaster.”

“I’m more depressed than nauseous, Mycroft.” I nod at the flutes. ‘What’s the occasion?”

He looks at his hands, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a blush creeping up his neck. “It was my intention to take a break from working and join you at home to celebrate the fact that I am no longer cohabiting with a married man. Had I not miscalculated the measure of your happiness, we would have sipped on chilled Dom Perignon, eaten delectably sweet strawberries, and enjoyed the luxury of the new body-moulding mattress purchased for the occasion.”

“That’s… wow, Mycroft.” For all his going on about sentiment and not caring, he’s really good at gestures. “That’s very, ah… sweet of you. Romantic.”

“Yes, well, let’s not dwell on the adjectives, Gregory. Did you not hear the part where I miscalculated?”

“I did, and you haven’t. I am very, very happy,” I insist, clinking my glass against his. “To new beginnings.”

“Indeed.” He sips at his drink, and looks at me. “Persons who are happy do not have to tell anyone that they are, in fact, happy. And given that you were crying in a pub… well, one doesn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to see that as a sign that you are not happy.”

“Wasn’t crying. Gin makes me… emotional.” I sigh. “Look… I won’t lie; it hurts. I want to rage and break things. And I know that’s stupid, because it’s not like Liz and I would have lasted. But a part of me… a very small part… wants to believe that it would have been good for us.”

“At the risk of sparking your formidable temper, it would not have been good for anyone. I’m not clairvoyant, but baby or not, she would have cheated, and hurt you. And then what of the child? Shuffled back and forth between houses, used as a pawn?”

I frown at the certainty in his tone. “Are you trying to tell me something about your childhood?” He never talks about his father, so for all I know, he’s passed on, or they’re divorced.

“Heavens, no. My parents are frighteningly mad for each other, and for their sons,” he says with a grimace of distaste. “But I am not so detached from the world that I cannot see what goes on in it, Gregory. Honestly, you’d think I was a machine the way you take on.”

I sip more Prosecco and shrug. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around it all. I know I’m not anyone’s idea of a prince, but I was a good husband to her. I can’t imagine why she’d think I’d cheat on her. I mean, really… I stayed with her, sleeping on the sofa, while she was out all night, and… damn it. She just didn’t want me. It didn’t matter about Renny, or any of that. It was me.”

“It wasn’t you, Gregory.” He rubs at his temples. “She had you, and all that such a thing entails, and chose to toss you aside like so much rubbish. The sheer lunacy of not wanting a Rembrandt because you’d rather a poster with cats or a silly saying about accepting things is quite irritating.”

It takes me a few ticks to parse out what he’s said, and when I realise that he’s said something nice, I laugh. “You think I’m a Rembrandt? I was thinking more like that bloke who painted the dogs playing poker.”

“A Coolidge painting is just as well rendered as any other famous painting, Gregory,” he lectures. “Though often the subject of scorn, the attention to detail is stunning. Comparing you to such a work isn’t an insult.”

“Well, you’ve made me feel a bit better.”

“Good. It’s done, and you can’t go back and change it. She had you – your love and devotion, your passion, and your heart. And while you are not perfect by any means, she tossed you aside because she was unsatisfied with herself. That is a win for me, and I won’t pretend that I am not overjoyed at her choice. Pardon me for one moment, if you will…?” He sets his glass aside and pulls out his mobile that is vibrating softly. He frowns, and quickly taps out a response. It vibrates again and this time he smiles. “Apologies.” He pockets it, and then looks at me.  “So, now, Gregory Ambrose Lestrade, you can wallow in the hurt of what might have been, or you can move forward with someone who appreciates your unhealthy obsession with finely tailored clothing, and is more than willing to indulge you in that particular…ah, thing you like done to your nether regions.”

“Mycroft!” I hiss, looking around to see if anyone heard.

“Merely reminding you,” he says, with a smug smile. “Have you eaten?”

“I don’t remember,” I admit. “You?”

“I have not, since I was in France most of the day, and unfortunately, all that was on offer was cigarettes and wine. That really wasn’t what I had a taste for.” He gives me ‘the look’ – a long, slow appraising from top to bottom – then his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I’m certain there is something at home that may satisfy my cravings…”

“Strawberries?”

“And thou.”

I blush, and fight off a shiver at his tone. Gods, but he’s sexy. I have no idea why I’m sitting here getting drunk and sad over something that wouldn’t have worked, when I’ve got this long-limbed sexy devil at the ready. “Hm. Fancy a baguette, then?”

“ _Mais oui_ ,” he replies, then drains his glass. “But before we go…” he looks over his shoulder, and nods.

A short, balding man in glasses and a track suit approaches the table. “Sorry about the clothes…” He looks at Mycroft nervously. “I came as soon as I could. The grandchildren are by, and the missus… well, I’m here now.”

“Good evening, Judge Jones, I appreciate you taking time out of your evening to provide assistance." Mycroft stands, and shakes the man’s hand. “Detective Inspector Lestrade, you may remember Judge Stanley Jones from the Pederstill case last year…?”

“Ah… yes?” I say with a frown. I blink at the man for a few minutes, trying to figure out what’s… Oh my god. A judge. The man has brought a district court judge to push forward the divorce. I stand hastily, trying not to appear too drunk, and offer a hand. “I… well. Yes, Judge Jones… pleased to meet you. Officially, that is.”

“Stellar work on that case,” Jones says with a smile. “I do need to get back, Mycroft, so if you have the documents…?”

“I do.” Mycroft takes the divorce papers from my coat pocket and lays them out. “Both parties have agreed on a sixty-forty settlement, and have signed. The soon-be-ex Mrs. Lestrade is quite anxious to move on with her life, so the Detective Inspector took the papers personally. All in order.”

“Oh, I’m sure they are if you’re involved. You always were thorough,” the judge laughs. He scans the papers, then signs at the bottom. He takes a gold embosser from his pocket and mashes it on the each of the papers. “There. I pronounce decree nisi in this case one-eleven-three-six. I can sign off on the decree absolute as soon as your ex-wife’s solicitor contacts the court, Mr. Lestrade.” He shakes both our hands, and smiles. “Got to get back before Helen realises I’m not out in the garden smoking.”

“I appreciate your assistance, Stanley,” Mycroft says, smiling. “And your time. Thank you.”

I smile, and bow slightly. “As do I. Thank you very much, Judge Jones.”

He simply nods, and makes his way to the door.

“You bastard... you really are the British Government.” Not the best thanks, but I'm just gutted at what he's done. 

“You’re welcome. Let’s not belabour the point by going on about it.” He gathers the papers, and holds them out to me. “Anthea can have them processed, unless you’d rather…?”

I move over to him, and before he can stop me, grab him in a big bear hug.

“Gregory, please.” he says when I squeeze him tighter, but I can feel him brush his lips against my forehead.  

I pat his back, and move away. “I love you so much, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Yes, I am well aware,” he replies, stepping back, and straightening his waistcoat. “Do try to contain yourself.”

“You make it hard,” I say, then snicker at the innuendo. “Let’s go home before I really embarrass us by snogging you right here on top of the table.”

“Scandalous.” He smiles again, and slides into his coat. Bloody sexy, that. “We’ll see to your car later. Come along, the driver is waiting.”

“Yeah.” I toss some notes on the table, and put on my coat. “You’re aces at comforting.”

“I freely admit this I am well out of my depth, but you, my dear Gregory, are most certainly worth the effort.” He ducks his head, and flashes the loveliest smile I’ve ever seen.

And that smile – that bashful smile of pure delight that few have ever seen- makes me realise that what I feel for him is worth ten thousand of what I thought I’d lost by not having a baby with Liz. This taciturn, frighteningly brilliant, solitary, unsociable, omniscient, stubborn man, who set aside his nature and gave me his heart, and offered me comfort despite hating sentiment and not understanding what I was feeling is… well he’s all I need. “Thank you, Mycroft,” I say with a quick squeeze of his shoulder. “My knight in bespoke armour.”

He rolls his eyes, and nudges me toward the door, muttering something about locking himself away at the Diogenes for the next week, starting wars, and going to Baker Street to pick a fight with Sherlock.

Fin

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For research purposes, I went on a bar crawl. It is entirely possible to drink whiskey, gin, and sparkling wine in one night without being sick. How I felt the next morning shall remain a secret. 
> 
> Names of places are pure imagination. Also, I know little about how divorces work in the UK, other than what I read. Go with the flow, hm.


End file.
